Wandering about taunting hill

Void of sidewalks and common sense

Desolate maples, elms and other leafless guards

Attempt to hail my writer’s eye

My soul yearns to dance above them

Then dive below the thin iced egret pond

Fly past the streets, past the frosted roofs

Then stalk the fall/winter blue colored world

The Sound now calls for her tender friends

The swooping gulls and this curious, gloved poet

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